


Rhythm

by JoeMerl



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Murphy's Law, Music, No Plot/Plotless, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27235561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeMerl/pseuds/JoeMerl
Summary: Milo practices the accordion with a broken arm.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Fanfiction.net on July 13, 2018, for Milo Murphy Appreciation Day (or as some call it, Friday the 13th).

Milo stood in front of his music stand and awkwardly lifted his accordion, an act made more difficult with a cast on his arm. Holding the heavy instrument was hard enough, but the real problem was that his _left_ arm was broken—the one that he needed to pull the bellows, and where the fingers had to stretch farther to reach the bass buttons. He took a few moments to quietly practice his motions, then turned back to his music book and began to play.

The sound was sloppy at first, too slow, and he kept missing the right buttons. Screwing up his face, Milo kept at it, picking up the tempo and trying to ignore any mistakes.

Milo liked playing music—it was something that he was good at, and something that played well to his skills. It required order, the routine of your fingers and arms making just the right motions each time, but the sound was as invigorating as the motions were comfortable. In a way, it reminded him of the tension he felt living with his condition—the need to be careful, to keep your ear open for any potential mistakes, but not to lose sight of the joy in the experience.

Just then, Milo's fingers slipped and a particularly strident whine came from the instrument—he winced but quickly corrected himself, then played a few jaunty, spontaneous flurries. He gave a sheepish grin, despite the lack of an audience, and then turned back to his sheet music, searching for his place.

It was the cast that had messed him up. As far as Milo could tell, Murphy's Law itself never hindered his music—sure, it could break his arms or damage his instrument, but it didn't seem to make him accidentally miss keys or suddenly lose his place on the page. He played just as well as any other person with his skill and experience, which was nice, considering how much he sometimes struggled in other, simpler pursuits.

"This really isn't _so_ bad," Milo said, trying to ignore the strain of both his arms and his fingers. His tempo was about normal now, and he was hitting just about every pitch—he straightened his back and let his music become more lively, tapping his slipper on the bedroom carpet.

He knew that he didn't _have_ to be practicing tonight, strictly speaking. Back when he had first started playing, he would take nights off when he was sick, or injured, or forced to flee the house due to flooding, or...well, that was the problem: the excuses kept piling up. For a long time it seemed like he never made any progress, because for every few nights that he practiced he would take a week off for some sort of emergency.

So he kept at it. He played in bed when he couldn't get up, and asked his parents to bring his instruments when they visited him in the hospital. He played when he had broken arms, or a concussion or hundreds of bee stings. It was the only way to keep improving, and if he let Murphy's Law stand in the way of that, well, why not just let it stop him from doing anything?

Sure, he was sometimes forced to miss a practice—when he trapped in that bank vault overnight, for example, or when eight of his fingers were all in splints—but he did his best, and it showed. He had already mastered the concertina, and he was pretty much a master of the accordion, too. He was even starting to consider finding a new instrument—maybe the bagpipes. They were kind of similar, but a woodwind would be an interesting change of pace.

He reached the end of his song and set the instrument on his lap, releasing a small sigh. Both his arms ached, as did his left fingers. He took a moment to rest, and then turned the page of his music book.

"One more before bed," he decided, then lifted the accordion and started playing again.


End file.
